


You Better Watch Out, Young Spark

by misfitmonarchy



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Drabble, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, prompt, tumblr drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitmonarchy/pseuds/misfitmonarchy
Summary: based off the prompt:“The world is not a kind place. It has no thoughts to your health, mental or physical. It is not kind, but we can be. We can be kind.” (givethispromptatry.tumblr.com)In which Stiles collapses from a bad fever, is visited by strange woman in his dreams and they (the pack) don't know what any of it means.





	You Better Watch Out, Young Spark

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt that i got way more invested in that i meant to! I don't know when but I do want to add onto this, so fret not! for now though, please enjoy this piece as a stand alone. If you like it, please see the original post on my tumblr: misfitmonarchythings.tumblr.com

The series of events that lead up to this moment are so jumbled and lost that Stiles really isn’t sure how he got here. The preserve has never looked so  _ green  _  and  _ alive _ as it does around him in this moment. The world around him feels off, like he’s suffering from a major case of deja vu so strong that it’s tangible in the air itself. 

A woman stands before him. Her hair is twisted into such intricate braids and knots that it’s hard to tell just how many are in her flowing tresses. She is by far the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, in a way that there aren’t words for. It’s so bright that it’s difficult to look at her for longer than a few seconds before he has to avert his eyes. They catch onto something a bit more intriguing anyways, her dress which at first was seen to just be flowing white sheer. Now that he’s looking at it closer, he notices that the fabric is constantly shifting as if the material itself were alive. 

“Where am I?” It’s strange. Even speaking makes him feel as if he were in a dream. Or having an out of body experience, because in this moment Stiles has never felt more like an unwelcome third party in his own body. 

“You, my young spark, are currently in the land of the fae- a world that exists beyond your maiden world’s veil. We do not have time for idle queries, I’m afraid. I brought you here for a reason.”

Even the woman’s voice is ethereal just like the rest of her, the sound of it was musical and it almost hurt his head to focus on it too hard. It was like trying to translate a bird’s song into human words. 

Stiles wants to ask so many things, but he’s trying to understand everything happening and is struck by how the words are stuck in his throat. It feels raw, as if he’s been screaming and lost his voice. She smiles softly at him. As if she knows exactly what’s going on in his mind that is firing at thousand times a second. 

“I have pulled your soul here in order to save it. You’re spark has not been lit yet, and is in danger of going out. Your body and soul are not anchored.” None of this information makes sense to Stiles. He didn’t even know what the hell a  _ spark _ was. He had to admit though, that his body and soul not being anchored didn’t particularly sound too great. 

“How do I fix it?” He manages to get out. He wonders why he can only get out small sentences. He wants to know so many things- what is a spark, why is he one, how did he not know about it? is it magic? how does he use it? where is this? who is she? what is a fae? he thought only druids had real magic? he doesn’t understand anything but she’s not really giving him the time either. 

Time... She’d said something about that. Not having much of it?

“Yes. Our time is short, child. I know you have many queries for us. I ought to answer several but there is more risks than gains to keeping you here long. Listen to me, you have a spark. It must be lit or it will burn out and your soul will no longer be tethered. Usually one’s spark lights itself on its own during adolescence. Though some trauma may blockade that path to yours, so I have decided to light it for you. You may not recall much of this encounter upon awakening, but I wish it upon you that you may use this flame do spread kindness as you have to your wolves thus far.”

Not only did she seem to know his thoughts, but seemed to know about his life in Beacon Hills, one where he ran with a pack of werewolves and constantly tried to help any way he could. Stiles felt a knot in his chest he hadn’t realized was growing tighter, loosen when he was encouraged to use whatever a spark was in order to help. 

“I’m magic?” He asks, but the air is getting thicker and her voice more faint. 

“The world is not a kind place. It has no thoughts to your health, mental or physical spark. It is not kind, but we can be. We can be kind to those who need it. You must go now, please remember my words. I shall watch over you, young spark.” 

The world fades away in a cloud of fog Stiles hadn’t noticed before. The air increases in its density until he’s falling to his knees, the air is thick and wet in his lungs. It hurts to breathe the heavy oxygen. He has to focus on it in order to suck it down but its like a vacuum has begun to remove all oxygen from the atmosphere. 

The strange fae-woman’s words echo in his head as he collapses. The last thing he recalls is the feeling of wet grass touching his temple, as if the ground itself were kissing him goodnight. The woman’s already gone before he’s blacked out. 

***

When he comes to, he nearly gags from how hard he gasps for air. It’s a stark contrast to the wet atmosphere from before. His back arches off the hard surface he’s on and his chest is on fire as he gasps loudly and painfully. The first thing Stiles registers besides the pain in his chest is that he’s no longer in the preserve. 

He’s staring up at a stark white ceiling with painfully white LED lights as he chokes violently on the air. He swallows down the breaths greedily- just barely able to suppress the need to vomit if only because he’s worried if he did, he’d choke on that too. 

“...iles! Stiles can you hear me?!” Scott’s voice is loud and jarring compared to the woman from the dream. It’s already fading from his memory, he can’t even remember her face anymore. As if someone has deliberately blurred it from his brain. 

“Get Scott out of here.” Someone else says, and he can feel hands on his arm being removed as he chokes down air. Stiles wants to look around and tell Scott that he’s  _ fine _ but his body has other plans. 

His eyes droop back closed as his stiff body relaxes as the breaths come easier. It’s only part way through this that he’s got enough energy to open his eyes and recognize a breathing mask has been put over him- and he only really notices that because he could feel a warm hand holding it over his face. 

“He should be in the hospital.”

“He  _ should _ be dead with a fever this high. Whatever’s happening isn’t normal, we can’t risk it.”

“All the more reason he should be with doctors who know more about the human body than we do! What if we’re  _ killing him?!”  _

Erica’s outraged voice is too full of panic to make Stiles think she’s actually angry. But still he manages to heave out a few words, if only to stop all the shouting. “Not dead yet..” His throat is about as raw as he expected it to be after choking so harshly when he’d come to. 

If it weren’t for werewolf hearing he doubts she would have heard him over the commotion. As it was, the room goes silent as he opens his eyes sluggishly. 

“Jesus...” 

“Stilinski you scared the hell out of us. Once you’re better I’m going to kill you myself.” Ah... There was the Erica he knew and loved. He tries smile but the effect is lost under the oxygen mask. He looks over to the direction of the voice, furrowing his brows to concentrate. He definitely doesn’t feel  _ good _ , but he’s fairly sure he’s not  _ dying. _

For a pack of badass werewolves, they really did worry a lot like mother hens. 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Oh, he said that out loud didn’t he? “Yes. You did.” He blinked blearily over to where Derek was stood, closer than he’d expected the alpha to be. 

“Hey.” He croaks, taking in on one more deep breath of the oxygen before pulling off the mask. Now that he looks around, Stiles can see that he’s in Deaton’s clinic. Even though his chest still aches vaguely, the burning fire in it from when he first came to has faded to a dull throb. 

“How are you feeling?” Deaton demands while Stiles starts to sit up. Derek seems to think he can’t do it on his own apparently- because there is an arm around him as he rises. Stiles wants to complain or tease the alpha but it’d be hypocritical of him as he leans into the support. 

“Hot.” He replies, because it’s the best way to explain it. His chest throbs and he rubs at it subconsciously. Deaton opens his mouth to say something but Stiles finds his own mouth moving without permission. “She said she lit it... might be why.” 

“What?”

“The lady. Something about... anchors and stuff.” Stiles felt like his mouth was frozen after going to the dentist. His words were slurred and his thoughts were awfully fuzzy. Derek’s shoulder was awfully comfortable. 

“Who are you talking about? Stiles, I need you to stay awake.” He must blackout or something because when he opens his eyes again Melissa has her hands on his cheeks. They’re nice and cool. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” She smiles at him with that special motherly glint in her eye. Stiles doesn’t remember hearing her come in before. He’s noticing now that he’s still at Deaton’s. Does this guy ever actually get his veterinary work done? It seems like every other week the pack was using up his space for another near-death crisis. He could only imagine how many customers were pissed for getting the pet’s appointments cancelled. 

“Hi.” Stiles replies, leaning into her hands. “Mnn.. You’re hands are cold.” He mumbles, because that’s the reach of his intelligence right now. It’s as if someone has filled his head with that same heavy wet fog from the dream. As he looks at Melissa he’s reminded of how dark the woman’s hair had been in contrast to her confusing dress. He wonders if Melissa knows what a fae is. 

“A what? Sorry Stiles, I need you to speak up.”

“Nevermind...” There’s muttering behind him but he lets Melissa keep his focus. It’s hard to think though, with his mind lost in the fog. 

“You’ve got a pretty bad fever, kid.” She says in that same gentle tone. It reminds him of when he was younger and practically lived at her house after his mom passed away and his dad threw himself into his police work. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’m going to give you an IV with antibiotics in it, that okay?”

“Mhmm.” He’s still sitting up, so Stiles figures he couldn’t have been out very long. Melissa gives him a nervous smile and now that he’s tuned back into the world around him, he feels the arm from before still around him. He turns his head when Melissa lets go to look up at the alpha holding him up. “Hey.” He mumbles to him, and his own bleary look is met with a worried frown. 

Stiles is a bit proud that he can tell the differences in most of Derek’s frowns now. To most people he just looked pissed all the time. Stiles knew better. Stiles even had a personal glare tailored just for him. He was proud of that too. 

“Hey.” Derek parrots, as if struck stupid by the greeting and having no clue what else to say. 

His green eyes also remind him of the woman, of how  _ green _ and  _ alive  _ the forest around him had been. Stiles tells Derek this. Instead of being grateful for the compliment, the wolf frowns deeper. Stiles wants to tell him that’s a rude reaction but he’s distracted by the burning prick of Melissa administering the IV. Apparently he’s dehydrated. 

Stiles isn’t sure where the knowledge of it comes from but he’s telling them about how the fever is probably from the spark before he can keep his lips from moving. Again he’s struck by how it feels like he’s a third party in his own body. As if there’s another consciousness in here with him. 

“The hell is he talking about?” Someone else demands in the background. Oh, Scott has been let back into the room. Melissa does something to a bag hanging on a metal pole and suddenly all Stiles can think of is the cool relief that spreads through his veins. 

He groans softly, dropping his heavy head back onto Derek’s shoulder again. Later, when he’s healthy and has time to be shy he’ll feel embarrassed about it- but for now all he can think of is the cool relief of the IV and how soft Derek’s henley feels under his cheek. He wonders if it’s the shirt or the body under it that is so comfortable. Stiles doesn’t have that long to ponder that thought though- because someone is touching his face again. 

“Stiles. Stay awake.” Melissa’s cool fingers are there again, swiping something cold and wet over his face. Stiles can’t help but moan softly at the refreshing coldness and lean into it. He’s still feeling achy and foggy but it’s a little clearer now. 

He wonder’s if Melissa has magic too- like the fae lady had told him. Maybe she should could tell him what a spark was, why it had to be ‘lit’ to stop from ‘burning out’. 

“He’s finally gone off the rails...” Someone remarks in the background. Stiles doesn’t have the energy to tell Jackson to fuck off. Or maybe he does, because the shoulder under his head shakes a little with laughter. 

“I think I might actually know what’s going on.” Deaton, ever the cryptic and hoarder of knowledge says. Stiles drifts off somewhere between the thunking of heavy tomes onto a counter top and Deaton reading out a passage that sounded like someone wrote it during the dark ages, something about faeries and visions. Stiles has no idea, because by then he’s already relaxed at an angle that relieves some of the ache in his neck. 

***

Stiles comes to again and he’s not at Deaton’s anymore. That’s probably a good thing, considering how the guy was going to end up going out of business if he kept closing his doors sporadically due to the pack.Poor guy probably had clients dropping like flies with the amount of time he shut down his every day operations for them. 

“He runs it more as a side job than anything else, I don’t think he actually minds.” Scott’s voice says from beside him. Stiles looks over to see the brunette sitting on the edge of the bed. Huh. Someone must have carried him in after he’d fallen asleep again. Scott smiles at him when Stiles meets his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” It’s true. He doesn’t feel nearly as achy or hot as before. He notices the IV was still in his arm, held in place with a piece of medical tape. 

“You scared the shit out of me. Don’t ever do that again.” Scott admonishes, but Stiles smiles. Despite his tone, Stiles knows that Scott means well. 

“What happened?” 

“You don’t remember? You just dropped like a ton of bricks during a pack meeting.” Scott frowns down at him. 

Stiles tried to remember back. The fog was still heavy and wet on his mind, but he could vaguely recall something about meeting the pack at the loft. Something about the plant life in Beacon Hills growing at a ridiculous rate, like  _ cut your grass everyday _ kind of rate. He tells Scott this, and the boy’s frown deeper. 

“Is that all you remember?” He asks, as if Stiles would hold back anything he knew about the illness he seemed to be currently suffering from. 

He tries to return the frown with a raised brow but the tension makes his head hurt and he lets his face smooth back out with a sigh. “Is there something I’m missing? Need I remind you I apparently fainted?” 

“It’s just... You didn’t just faint, Stiles.” Scott bites his lip, as if he’s worried telling his best friend more will put him into shock. “You had a fever of  _ 109 º.” _

Holy shit. 

“We were really worried.” Scott says, looking down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands. Stiles can see the nails are all bitten down to the beds. He feels a bit guilty for the sad look on Scott’s face. 

“I don’t know what to say... I...” He was speechless. A fever that high should have killed him. He wonders if that’s why it had been so hard to breathe the first time he’d woken up. Stiles doesn’t like the way that thought churns his stomach so he shoves it far away. 

“I’m glad you’re alright. I can’t lose you, Stiles.” 

“Scott...” He says softly, his chest feels so full that he wishes his thoughts weren’t so muddled so he could get the words out properly. “I’m right here.”

“Just- don’t ever do that... Don’t scare me like that, man.” Stiles vows to himself right there that he’d be more careful. He can’t stand the mournful look Scott is giving him- like Stiles was already dead and he’s talking with a ghost. His friend of since  _ forever _ should never have to look that haunted. No matter how many monsters come to Beacon Hills. 

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. I’m uh..” He sniffs quietly and looks away from Stiles to look at something far more interesting on the carpet. “I’m gonna go tell mom you’re awake so she can check on you. And your dad. Fair warning, he’s probably not going to let you out of his sight for a while though.” Scott cringed. Though his dad now knew about the supernatural world- the sheriff wasn’t comfortable with it. Even less so, he was uncomfortable with Stiles having any kind of involvement to it in any shape or form. He’d probably hold this incident over Stiles for at least a few weeks in order to keep him away from the pack ( _ or as dad liked to call it: Derek’s little cult _ ). 

“Great.” He groans. As he sits up, he can feel the throbbing heat in his chest. It hasn’t gone away, just become more numb. It’s not as violently painful as when he’d come to that first time- Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that kind of pain though. One that was as if his own lungs were on fire as he gagged on the oxygen he craved. It was a special kind of agony that even now made him feel nauseous from thinking about. 

Stiles has barely managed to sit himself up against his pillows when his dad is in the doorway and coming over to hug him gently. He’s scolded again for scaring the daylights out of his father, much like Scott had but with a few more curses and a thicker voice. He could only imagine how scared his dad had been; Stiles couldn’t imagine being in his place and seeing his dad so sick like that. 

It was too similar to how they had lost his mom to be comfortable. So he let his father fuss over him. Let Melissa check him over and confirm that the fever seemed to have broken. She said it was due to the IV, which she was now taking out and giving him a small bandage for- but somehow Stiles knew that it hadn’t been the IV that had helped. 

There’s a vague image of a dark haired women in a white, ever-shifting dress that dances through his thoughts. 

He wonders why she looks so familiar but pushes it to the back of his mind. Stiles is told he was out for two days, and is on house arrest for at least two more until his dad is satisfied that he’s not going to keel over again. 

That night he has a dream of a foggy clearing and a woman’s voice, musical and crooning like a robin’s song. He can’t understand what she’s saying, but it feels warm and gentle. 

***

By the time he’s allowed to visit the pack again- which is only through bargaining with his father to have a steak for dinner instead of just ‘that damned rabbit food’-  it’s been a total of four days since he collapsed. 

They all meet at Derek’s loft, and Stiles finds himself recovering snatches of memory the night he fainted as he climbs the stairs with Scott (another term of his agreement with his dad had been that he wouldn’t go anywhere alone for the time being). He’s reminded of how they’d been trying to figure out why the plant life was growing so quickly, if it was just a fluke or if they had a situation on their hands. The only reason they had been worried was mostly due to an overabundance of wolfsbane that had begun growing in the preserve where it never had before. 

They’d been looking over the bestiary, Stiles remembers as he lets Scott pull open the door too the loft and let Stiles walk in first. Everyone else is here already- and they all stop what they’re doing when he comes in. It makes his chest feel tight and uncomfortable- how they stare at him like he’s vulnerable and small. He knows they were probably worried but they didn’t have to wear it so blatantly on their faces. 

“And here I thought this was a wolf’s den. My mistake, it’s just a bunch of mother hens.” He says, and that seems to break the spell over them, because in the blink of an eye he’s got an armful of Erica. 

“If you ever do that again I’ll kick your ass.” She threatens while others offer similar comments and greetings. He doesn’t miss how even Jackson seems to (even if it’s a subconscious action) touch his arm when he sits down on the couch. 

Scent marking, Stiles thinks with a suppressed smile.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t actually plan on nearly dying, it’s just a force of habit.” He shrugs as Derek comes to set an oddly familiar looking tome on the coffee table. The rest of the pack is seated in one way or another around the table, Stiles, Jackson and Lydia are on the couch, Erica and Boyd have settled in front of them on the floor- Erica’s back presses up against Stiles’ knees heavily. Isaac and Scott have nabbed the chair, Isaac in it while Scott perches on the arm of it. Derek himself is in the only other chair, leaned forward so his elbows rest on his knees while he thumbs through the old book he’d set down. 

“As overjoyed as we are, there  _ is _ a reason I called this meeting.” Derek remarks, and though he sounds overly grumpy (he usually does when there’s so many people in his space like this) Stiles can see that his shoulders don’t seem to be as tight and stiff as they had been when they’d first come in. 

“Wow, not even a ‘ _ Stiles I’m so glad you’re alive.’  _ really feeling the love there, big guy.” He can’t help but push Derek’s buttons. Occupational hazard, if you will. 

He receives that patented ‘ _ Shut up, Stiles’  _ glare and can’t help the smirk that follows it. Derek doesn’t fall for the goading though, and instead looks back to his book. 

“As you guys know,  _ before _ Stiles decided to try and die-” Okay,  _ rude _ . “-we were looking into the possibility of a group of pixies in the preserve. But now I’m thinking it might actually be a family of fae.”

“What makes you say that?” Lydia asks, sharp as a whip and leaning forward to see the book better. Derek turns it to her so she can see the writings. 

“Other than what we already know, pixies are childish and mischievous but prefer to hang around households and hide things or lead child away to play. They’re not really dangerous and don’t have much magic. Faeries are not only stronger but they can look like humans. Pixies are small... like the size of your hand. Faeries have more than one faction though.” Stiles think this be the most he’s heard Derek say at once. But then again, he always was more talkative when they had an issue to deal with. The real trick was trying to get the guy to speak more than two sentences at a time when it came to himself. 

“So you’re saying pixies couldn’t do this because they’re not strong enough? Or because they don’t deal in nature magic?” Lydia asks, to which Derek tells her either or would be good enough reason to write them off. The facts together exclude them fairly easily. “Then do we know which faction we’re dealing with? This here says that there’s four different fae courts...”

“One for each season.”

“Like in the Tinkerbell movies?”

Derek raises a brow at Lydia who matches it with one of her own. “I have a three year old niece, Derek. Don’t give me that look.” He clearly doesn’t really know what she means by the reference anyways, but other than a frown for the back talk, he doesn’t stop her from continuing. “There’s an appointed fairy in the movies, one for each season who is like a monarch over a faction of other fairies and they’re each in charge of a season to bring to the real world- and within the seasonal factions of autumn, summer, winter and spring- there are different jobs and groups.” Derek actually seems pretty impressed by the info. 

“That’s actually... Pretty close.” Stiles takes a moment to burn the expression Derek’s wearing to memory. He wouldn’t go as far as to say the alpha looked impressed- but he sure as all looked more surprised that Stiles had seen when the man wasn’t mocking the emotion. His brows were raised and his green eyes were widened a little, letting the light catch them. Their vibrancy tugs a picture free of some fogged over memory; green trees and equally vibrant grass. The way it felt when the ground touched his temple before the world faded out of a foggy white to darkness. 

His heart must do something funky because it’s the only reason why Derek’s eyes would lock onto him so quickly. It steals his breath for moment- seriously  _ who _ gave Derek permission to have those  _ damned eyes? _

“What?” 

The question is directed at him, and draws the other’s attention to him. Usually he can hide his heart’s blips and skips because the ADHD makes it already a bit different from what the wolves are all used to hearing- and even then they needed to concentrate on it to pay attention to it. If they were honed in on heartbeats all the time he couldn’t imagine the over-sensitivity they’d have to everything. For Derek to have noticed the blip, the man would not only have to have been listening  _ for _ it but also already  _ know _ it to recognize it’s offbeat pattern and then tell when that already strange pattern changed. 

His cheeks felt warm as he dropped his eyes quickly to the book. 

“Nothing.” Stiles says. He’s too sheepish to look back up- can  _ feel _ the eyes on him now. Instead he studies the book. And suddenly, he doesn’t care about the stares anymore because  _ he knows that face. _ “Wait-” He leans over Erica, grabbing the book and ignoring the huff Jackson makes when he elbows him a bit to pull the book into his lap. 

“What is it, Stiles?” Lydia asks, in that tone she uses when they’re doing advanced calculus. Her puzzle solving voice. 

“I know her.” He says stupidly, staring at the dark haired woman drawn on the page beside writing that is in another language. He thinks it might be Latin. He’s not sure. But he definitely recognizes that face. It’s so painfully familiar that he can hear her crooning musical voice in his ear. 

“Stiles, how in the world can you  _ know _ a fae?” 

“I don’t... I know her. I’ve seen her somewhere.”

Scott watches him curiously before asking the room, “Is this about that stuff you were saying when  you woke up? At Deaton’s?” Stiles looks away from the drawing for a moment, frowning at Scott. 

“What do you mean? Saying what?”

“You kept talking about a woman. Something about a spark.” Isaac says from beside Scott. Lydia takes the book from Stiles to see it better while Erica leans heavier on his legs. He’s grateful for it, as it offers him some grounding. 

He wants to deny what Isaac is saying. That he hadn’t said anything- at least he didn’t  _ remember _ saying anything. And that was the freaky part, having done things that couldn’t remember at all. Like he’s just a passenger in his body. 

This time he thinks its pretty fair that everyone is watching him when his heartbeat skyrockets. “I....” He wants to say something but it just wooshes out of his chest. Like someone is squeezing the breath out of him. 

“Calm down. You were really out of it- you might not remember.” He doesn’t even realize his hands were shaking until Erica’s face there, grabbing his attention from where she is on the floor. She makes him meet her yellow eyes. “Breathe, Stiles.” So he does. As if it were that easy to start with and hadn’t been catching on a tongue that had suddenly felt too thick- as if he hadn’t been reminded of that choking feeling of the air being too wet and heavy. 

“Okay..” It’s embarrassing how thready his voice sounds but not even Jackson says anything about it. He didn’t even notice his hand that had gripped the newest beta’s knee instead of the couch. Stiles drops his hand from it like its burning. His face felt red but he just kept his eyes on Erica. Her glowing eyes were helping him calm down. 

“Do you remember where you might have seen her?” Derek asks once he’s calmed as much as he can for now. Stiles looks away from Erica and knots his fingers together to keep from fidgeting too much. 

He tries to remember the woman. What had she called him? “It’s like a dream. It’s all foggy... like trying to look through a window that’s been covered in steam. And I can’t wipe it away to see through it.” He says.

_ ‘...you have a spark. It must be lit or it will burn out and your soul will no longer be tethered...’ _ Her musical voice is hard to focus on. When he tries to conjure the image of her face, it’s never the same - like his mind can’t decide whether it’s like the picture or not. But the hair and the dress are the same. 

“She said.... something about a spark. That  _ I _ have one? I don’t know what that means. I don’t even know if it was just a dream.” He says, letting his eyes drift down to the coffee table while he clenches his hands tighter. 

“It says here that this is the queen of the spring fae court. Are you sure this is who you saw, in this... dream?” She asks. It gives him a twinge of doubt. 

“What the hell is a spark?” Jackson asks, and for once Stiles agrees with him. He would like to know what this  _ thing  _ in him was. 

“If she visited you, for whatever reason, it had to have been important. Maybe Deaton can help you remember?” Scott supplies. It’s not a lead but it could be helpful. Stiles can still feel Derek’s eyes on him, so he keeps his eyes on the table. Staring at the blank oak furnish helps him try to recall the...  _ whatever  _  it was that he had seen the woman. 

“It’s hard to remember her face- but I’m almost a hundred percent sure that’s her. Whenever I try to remember what she looks like it’s like my brain can’t decide on what she looked like. But I know she definitely had her hair in the exact same style as that picture. And her dress was the same too- except it like... it was  _ moving _ .”

“Like wind?”

“No. Like the fabric was  _ alive.”  _ Now that he was really focusing on it, he realized this was the same woman he’d dreamt of the last two nights since he’d woken up at home in his bed. 

Lydia purses her lips and looks back to the script. It's definitely not English, but he’s not very surprised she’s taken to learning what looks like archaic Latin; she probably had taught herself the language after being introduced to the supernatural world. “As unbelievable as your fever dream sounds... I think Stiles might be right.” She says to the group. “It says here that fae have the ability to manipulate their appearance, and that it’s usually hard to remember any of their character traits unless they let you. It also says that if they come to you it’s most likely very important. To hear from a one of the leaders of The Seasonal Courts is almost unheard of for humans.” Stiles doesn’t really feel much better. Some faerie had come to him-  _ a pretty fucking important faerie at that-  _ and Stiles didn’t even have the decency to remember what she told him!

“Well what the hell does all this mean?” He finally asks. No one has any answers for him. It doesn’t soothe his anxiety, and it’s obvious from one look around the room that no one else knows either. 

“I’ll call Deaton and see what he knows.” Scott says to break up the silence. Lydia hands the book back to Derek again. The alpha was quiet, only nodding his permission for Scott to call when the beta inclined his head looking for approval.

Stiles kept to himself, uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the meeting, frowning at the book as if it would give him some answers from where Derek was flipping through it. No matter how much more he was quizzed he didn’t have any answers for them. 

He had something called a ‘spark’ and none of them knew what the hell that was. Derek and Lydia were looking at  a few other times but didn’t seem to have any answers either. He just hoped that whatever this spark thing was- it wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

Stiles wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he caused anything bad to happen because he couldn’t remember. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what you think in the COMMENTS! 
> 
> i'm [misfitmonarchythings](https://misfitmonarchythings.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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